


Nobody Believes You Now

by orphan_account



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alive Noah Czerny, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, F/M, Heroes AU, M/M, Regeneration, Time Travel, adam as claire, alter ego, blue as isaac, blue sargent is a drug addict, gansey as peter, henry as hiro, heroes (tv show) - Freeform, kavinsky as sylar, messing with timelines, mindreading, noah as nicki/jessica, painting the future, ronan as matt, tagged as non-con because noah nearly gets raped, teleoporting, the ghost - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:54:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27210802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Henrietta is going to explode, if the combined force of Henry, Noah, Gansey, Blue, Ronan and Adam don't come together to stop it.But how will they stop if they don't know it'll happen?Blue Sargent can draw the future.Ronan Lynch can read mindsAdam Parrish can regenerateNoah Czerny has a super strong alter egoHenry Cheng can control spaceti,eand Gansey can absorb other people's powers[AKA the Heroes (TV show) that no-one asked for but got anyway]
Relationships: Noah Czerny/Henry Cheng, Richard Gansey III/Blue Sargent, Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish
Kudos: 7





	1. Genesis

**Author's Note:**

> OK so the timeline for both things is gonna be messed up. (p.s you don't have to have watched heroes but it probably helps)  
> Blue acts as Isaac but still has a family. She's addicted to weed not heroine.  
> Adam is acting as Claire, adopted by the Sargents instead of the Bennets.  
> Gansey acts as Peter who is NOT related to Claire  
> Ronan acts as Matt but he's a homicide detective not a beat cop  
> Henry acts as Hiro without his Ando  
> Noah cts as Nicki. Jessica is known as "the ghost" and its when noah goes all weird and ghosty in cannon
> 
> this probably doesn't make sense but I'm writing it because I want to ok

**Gansey (Henrietta, Virginia)-  
  
** I’m dreaming. I know I am because I’ve had this exact same dream many times before.   
  
I stand at the top of a building, seven storeys at least, and look down at the deserted road below. I take the step forward and plummet, but not uncontrollably. The wind pummelling me does so to my will, and I rise and fall and know where I’m going.  
  
I startle from my dream, my past sense of elation waning. I’m not flying, I’m dosing in one of the high-backed chairs belonging to one Artemus Sargent, a dying man surrounded by beeping machine and tubes.  
  
Gently, I ease to my feet and go to check his vitals. All good. No, to say that would to say nothing is wrong. An extraordinary amount of things are wrong.  
  
No worse. Through the night, he’s stayed the same.  
  
“Gansey?” Asks a voice from the doorway. “How is he?”  
  
I turn to find Blue Sargent, small and concerned, looking at her father. Blue’s my age, but she looks both younger, maybe because she’s always so spaced out.  
  
“He’s the same.” I tell her, in all honesty.   
  
She approaches and smoothes one finger across Aretmus’ forehead.  
  
“Oh, I drew these. Don’t know when, but I thought they kinda looked like you.” She says, rummaging through her backpack and producing a few sheets of crumpled up paper and pressing them into my hand.  
  
“Uh, thanks.”  
  
Her phone starts ringing. She fishes it from her pocket then frowns at the screen. “Sorry, I have to take this. It’s Adam.”  
  
I wave goodbye with my free hand then open my other to look at the paper she pressed into my hand. Each sheet is something i recongnise.  
  
I recognise it because I dream it almost every night.  
  
In a style reminiscent of classic comic strips, I’m shown flying and falling.  
  
  
 **Adam Sargent (Henrietta, Virginia)-  
  
** “You ready?” Blue calls up from where she holds her camera.  
  
I nod, swallowing my nerves. Nothing has kept me hurt yet, is it likely to start now?  
  
I jump. It doesn’t take long for me to fall, despite the height of the old structure.  
  
I suppose my life is supposed to flash before my eyes. Maybe mine doesn’t because I know I’m not going to die. I’m just going to be in a _lot_ of pain.  
  
It’s a harsh impact, I feel the splintering pain and hear a definite snap. Groaning, I get to my feet and look directly at Blue’s camera.  
  
I set my arm, already feeling the lacing together of anything broken.  
  
“This is Adam Sargent, and that was attempt number seven.”  
  
Blue closes the camera and sets it back in her bag. “You okay?”  
  
“When am I not?” I grimace, rolling my arm to make it stop feeling weird and unattatched.   
  
“Do you smell smoke?” Blue asks, looking around.  
  
I take a deep lungful of air. Yep, there’s definitely fire around here somewhere. I follow Blue’s example and look around for a source. Down the hill, an old shipping container is ablaze, already surrounded by fire trucks and swarms of people.  
  
I don’t care. Those people can get injured, I can’t. Not permanently, anyway. I start running, shoes tearing into the dry Henrietta soil.  
  
“Adam!” Blue shouts after me, but I don’t stop.   
  
Coming to an abrupt stop near the base of the hill, I pause to listen to the shouts of the firefighters.   
  
“There’s someone still inside!”   
  
_Shit._ There’s someone still inside. Not stopping to contemplate, I head straight into the burning building.   
  
Smoke stings my eyes and I cough and splutter. I don’t scream as fire licks and hisses at my skin, because what’s the point of screaming if it’s going to be fine?  
  
Finally I locate a body. I hold a hand to his nose. He’s breathing but barely .  
  
“Can you stand?” I ask, already looping an arm under his arms and hauling him to his feet.  
  
Together we stagger out of the building, dodging the biggest puddles of flame.   
  
People shout as we emerge and the building. There are hands on me, separating me from the man and guiding us both quickly to ambulances.  
  
No, it’d be suspicious if they couldn’t find a burn mark on me.   
  
The firefighter holding me lies me on a stretcher and turns to the man, whose obviously more injured than me.  
  
I take my chance, and make a break for it.  
  
  
 **Noah Czerny (Las Vegas)-  
  
** “Don’t you have a pretty mouth?” One of the men sneers at me, twisting my chin beneath his hand.  
  
Part of me wants to yell at him, tell him to fuck off. That’s a very small part of me, though, because all in all, this is my fault. I’m the one who needed that money, now I’m the one that repays it.  
  
The cameras still recording, thankfully not live uploading though. I can cut this part out if I want to.  
  
The man lets go of my chin, only to push me down onto the bed.  
  
The only thing I can hear is my own blood roaring in my ears.  
  
The second man grabs my arms and pins them to the headboard. The first man undoes his belt buckle.  
  
I’m gasping for air. “No, no, please, no, don’t do this.”  
  
Both men laugh and a sickening feeling curls in my stomach.   
  
Out of the corner of my eye, I see my own reflection in the mirror. But I’m not staring directly at the mirror, yet the mirror is staring directly at me.  
  
Turning my head fractionally to the side to see more, my eyes lock on my reflections. Mirror Noah winks once and everything goes back.  
  
 **  
Henry Cheng (Seoul, Korea)-  
  
** If I concentrate hard enough, it’ll happen. It’s done it before.   
  
With all the intent in the world, I stare at the clock.   
  
The second hand pauses and ticks backwards once before resuming its natural course.  
  
I did it! One second isn’t the biggest amount of time, but it’s all or nothing right? If I managed to make the second hand go backwards, I can probably make it go forwards. That’s a logical conclusion.  
  
Fixing my gaze on the clock once more, I concentrate with all my might. Nothing.  
  
I close my eyes and try again, my face scrunching up with the effort.  
  
Something feels different this time, even before I open my eyes. It’s warmer and its dryer. Peaking one eye open, I almost yell. I’m not in Seoul anymore, I’m in a dust covered town baking underneath a sweltering sun.  
  
  
 **Gansey (Henrietta, Virginia)-  
  
** It’s not that long a fall, honestly. Seven storeys is nothing. If I can fly (which I truly believe I can), then I won’t feel a thing.  
  
It’s very windy, and I can feel my coat billowing out behind me.  
  
Well, it’s now or never.  
  
I put one foot forward, letting it hover over midair for a second, before pushing off and falling.  
  
Truly, this is a terrible idea. Wind whips and lashes at me. Something cuts my side – probably the rusty fire escape.  
  
I’m not flying. I’m falling and there’s no way to control it. I watch the sidewalk come closer, the wind stinging tears out of my eyes.  
  
I’m not falling. There are a pair of hands around my middle. I look up and let out a startled laugh. I’ve never been so happy yet so surprised to see my older sister.  
  
Helen’s hands grip tight, keeping us both suspended in the air. Because she’s flying.  
  
I can’t fly.  
  
But Helen can.  
  
She starts to lower us to the ground, when her grip slips and I fall once more.


	2. Don't Look Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gansey confronts his sister about her flight
> 
> Adam's rash reaction to fire has its consequences
> 
> Maura Sargent makes a vow
> 
> Blue has a troubling prediction
> 
> Ronan Lynch helps a little girl
> 
> Henry finds an intriguing comic book
> 
> Noah buries a body

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no one reads this but do I care? yes. i'll still keep writing though

**Gansey (Virginia State Hospital)-  
  
** “Dick?” asks a concerned voice.  
  
I open my ears to harsh white light and my sisters worried face. My side hurts and my head is pounding.  
  
“Helen?”  
  
“It’s me.” She reassures me.  
  
I get a brief flash of memory, of hovering and gripping tight onto the sleeve of Helen’s coat.  
  
“You flew.” I say. It’s not quite an accusation but I wouldn’t say it’s _not_ an accusation either. Helen’s been blowing me off whenever I talked to her about my dreams, too focused on our mothers political campaign.  
  
Her eyebrows furrow. “What are you talking about, Dick? Those dreams you’ve been having?”  
  
i sit up and immediately regret it. “Helen, I saw it. You flew.”  
  
She shakes her head. “No I didn’t.”  
  
I’m about to say something back when my mother comes bustling back into the room. She puts a hand to my forehead.  
  
“Helen told me you jumped, Dick.” She shakes her head. “I probably should’ve seen it coming. Your father struggled with depression too, you know.”  
  
Well, there’s a lot of information to unpack there. My father had been depressed? He seemed perfectly fine to me when he was alive.  
  
I put on a winning smile – she doesn’t really know me well enough to see the difference between this and a real smile. “I’m fine, mom. I’m not depressed and I didn’t jump. I fell. It was all an accident.”  
  
She wipes at her eyes though they perfectly dry. “Good, good. I’m going to get a nurse, Ok?”  
  
___  
  
I stalk down the sidewalk, unreasonably annoyed by Helen. I know what I saw. I know that she flew, actually _flew_ like some kind of superhero and now she’s denying it ever happened and saying it was just my dreams.  
  
I know what happened. That’s why I’m standing at the top of the building again and looking down at the same empty alley as yesterday.  
  
“Dick!” I turn, still stood on the ledge.  
  
Helen’s eyes are wide with not entirely authentic horror.  
  
“Do you have some kind of death wish?” She demands.  
  
“You know I don’t.” I say, taking a step toward her.  
  
Her eyes flick down and then back up to my eyes. “Dick-“  
  
I stat walking closer toward her.“Why can’t you just admit it, Helen? I saw you. Stop trying to convince me that it was my imagination because i know it wasn’t, you flew, Helen-“  
  
She cuts me off. “Dick!”  
  
Then she points to my feet. I look down, to find that I’m walking on air at the same height as the ledge.  
  
  
 **Adam Sargent (University of Virginia)-  
  
** “I don’t know, Adam.” Blue muses, hands ruffling through the sheets of paper spread out in front of us. “i don’t think it’s just a coincidence that I drew you running into a building on fire just a day before you _actually_ went and ran into a burning building!”  
  
I run a hand over the piece that really caught my attention – a silhouette of two people, the second leaning heavily on the first – my fingers drag across the indents that the pencil made.  
  
Blue shakes her head. “I don’t even remember drawing it.”  
  
I think of me, of the fact I broke my arm yesterday and now I feel perfectly fine. I tap a finger against the one of me and the man.  
  
“If this one came true,” I move and splay a hand on another drawing, this one of a decimated Virginia. “Then surely this one comes true as well.”  
  
“Just because one came true doesn’t mean they all will.”  
  
Blue starts to say something else, but then there’s a loud clap from Ashley, the cheerleading coach. I get up from the picnic bench and join the huddle of both boys and girls that makes up the cheerleading squad. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t need an extracurricular to graduate.   
  
Standing beside Ashley is a face I recognise, the fire-fighter that helped me out the fire yesterday.  
  
“Ok team!” Ashley calls. “Officer Petrelli here is in need of finding a very brave man that helped pull another person out of the fire in the shipping containers yesterday!”  
  
The girls, more than half of the group, move away, leaving a cluster of boys.  
  
The fire-fighter lines us up and scrutinises all of us. I don’t back away from his gaze even when my brain screams at me to.   
  
“There’s no point to this.” Prokopenko says, taking a step out of line. “It was me. I saved him.”  
  
There’s a flurry of activity, people packing Proko on the back, the fire-fighter thanking him, Ashley commending him.  
  
I can’t believe him. He did no such thing and I could’ve _died._ (ok, I really couldn’t, but thats not the point). A small hand wraps around my bicep and dags me backwards, out of the commotion.  
  
“Blue,” I say. “How could he say that?”  
  
“I don’t know. But that’s not important, Adam.” Blue hisses, standing on her very tiptoes to reach my ear. “The tapes –the ones of you hurting yourself over and over – are gone.”  
  
  
 **Maura Sargent (300 Fox Way)-  
  
** Tape One – Adam takes a kitchen knife and slices his arm. The cuts mend themselves immediately. He takes a washcloth and wipes away the blood to reveal perfect skin. “I’m Adam Sargent, and this was attempt number one.”  
  
Tape Two – Adam plunges his hand into a pot of boiling water to retrieve Blue’s ring. His mangled skin is perfect less than a second. Blue makes a noise of delight from behind the camera. “I’m Adam Sargent and this was attempt number two.”  
  
Tape Three – It’s a really close up shot of Adam’s skin mending itself from a paper cut, layers of flesh lacing together to look brand new, not even a scar in sight. “I’m Adam Sargent and this was attempt number three.”  
  
Tape Four – Adam grasps the metal tray in a heated oven. He flinches in pain but pulls his hand out. The burn slowly fades away “I’m Adam Sargent and this was attempt number four.”  
  
Tape Five – Adam dives from a diving board into an unfilled pool. Something snaps. Blue swears. A second later, Adam groans and stands up, rolling his neck “I’m Adam Sargent and this was attempt number five.”  
  
Tape Six – Adam makes a deep scratch down his leg using jagged, rusty metal. Blue questions if he can still get a disease as the wound closes itself up. Adam responds that they’ll find out. “I’m Adam Sargent and this was attempt number six.”  
  
Tape Seven – Adam leaps from a rusty structure, landing in a heap on the floor. Blue calls for his well-being. Adam gets to his feet, grimacing as he sets his broken arm. “I’m Adam Sargent and this was attempt number seven.” Before the camera cuts out, Blue asks if it smells of smoke. Adam goes running toward a burning building.   
  
The screen goes black. I unhook the tapes and switch off the monitor before resting my head on my hands. Both of my children have abilities. I’ve seen Blue’s predictions, and now I’ve seen proof of Adam’s regeneration.   
  
I must protect them. If the Company knew of them...   
  
  
**Ronan Lynch (Convington, Virginia)-  
  
** Fuck.  
  
“Just let me in, man.” I say, my last attempt before probably being thrown out for trying to ‘trespass on a crime scene’ or whatever.  
  
The officer purses his lips, probably to tell me to fuck off. “Mr Lynch-”  
  
“Just because I’m not a cop, doesn’t mean I don’t need to make a living. Just let me in.”  
  
 _Help.  
  
_ I stop speaking. The cop looks relieved.   
  
_Please help, he’s hurting my parents.  
  
_ I barge past the cop. He doesn’t yell after me, he just looks resigned. I don’t care. Moving into the house, I follow the little voice to a wood panelled room.  
  
“who are you-” someone says.  
  
I put a finger to my lips are glare at them.  
  
 _Find me._  
  
I move into the dining room. A grisly sight meets my eyes. Two people, completely frozen, with the top of their heads chopped off and their brains exposed.  
  
The voice is louder now. More people try to stop me, but I shake them off, deep in concentration. The voice is louder nearest the stairs.   
  
Carefully, I move away an empty bookcase, not worrying about fingerprints (I’m already wearing gloves) and open a small door to the under stairs cupboard.  
  
A small girl is huddled there, tears streaming from her eyes.  
  
“Hey, hey it’s ok.” I offer my arms to her. “It’s all fine now. Okay? We’re going to take you to safety.”  
  
She eyes me warily but takes my hand. I cover her eyes so she doesn’t have to see the frozen bodies of who I’m assuming are her parents. No kid needs to see that. I pass her off to some cop who takes her outside.  
  
There’s a hand on my shoulder. I turn and sneer at an entirely grey-clothed man with an FBI badge pinned to his jacket pocket.  
  
“How did you know where she was?” He asks.   
  
“I heard her.” I reply, less bite to it then I would’ve liked. “Didn’t you?”  
  
He shakes his head.  
  
 _Could he be Sylar?  
  
_ “Who is Sylar?”  
  
“How do you know that name? No one knows that name.”  
  
“I heard it.”  
  
“Who are you?”  
  
“Ronan Lynch, I’m a private investigator.” I say, narrowing my eyes.  
  
Before I know it, he has my pinned against a wall, arms behind m back and wrists being cuffed together.  
  
“Ronan Lynch, you are being detained by the FBI on suspicion of murder.” The FBI agent growls against my ear.  
  
  
 **Henry Cheng (Henrietta, Virginia)(and some time in the future)-  
  
** Elation carries my feet toward a small supermarket. I mean to ask someone where I am but something catches my eye before I find a store attendant.  
  
A comic display. More particularly, a single comic with what looks like _me_ on the front. I pick it up. It’s called _9 th wonders. _  
  
It has a time card telling me that I’m in Henrietta, Virginia. It chronicles every event from me turning back the clock one second, to me finding this comic. The final page is me wondering what to do.  
  
What do I do? The information on the back tells me that the author and illustrator is a woman named Blue Sargent. It also gives an address and telephone number.  
  
I think that I will find Miss Sargent and inquire about how she knew such things. If I can bend the space-time continuum, then what can she do?  
  
___  
  
I rap three times on the glass door with the nameplate declaring it belongs to Blue J. Sargent.  
  
“Miss Sargent?” I call, and then wait.   
  
There isn’t a response, so I try the door handle. It’s unlocked, so I open it. The sight before makes me catch my breath in horror.  
  
The woman from the small picture is lying in a pool of her own bloos, eys vacant and staring upwards. The most grotesque thing about the scene, is her head. The top is cut off and discarded, exposing the brain.  
  
I’m no expert of brains, but a part seems to be missing.  
  
I inch forward, scared to touch anything. Her body is on top of now blood-stained mural of Henrietta exploding.  
  


I close my eyes and concentrate. I need to get to Korea.  
  
I teleport away just as an explosion rips through the building.  
  
  
 **Noah Czerny (Las Vegas)(present time)-  
  
** When I wake, the first thing that hits me is the smell, sweet and rusty.   
  
The second thing is the fact that the men seemed to have been ripped in half. Blood and guts have splattered the walls of my garage, both their faces are frozen in similar portraits of horror.   
  
I stifle a scream and an inkling to throw up, instead slowly inching off the bed. Skirting around the pools of blood as best I can, I pick of the camera from where it fell over and, with numb fingers, find the footage from last night.  
  
___  
  
I don’t know where I am. I passed out again, I think, but I’m sitting in my car, in an unknown parking lot, wearing different clothes.  
  
Feeling perturbed by this, I turn the keys that are already in the ignition and drive home, using my phone for directions. My mind keeps skipping back to the me who I saw on those recordings, who tore those men in half and didn’t even break a sweat.  
  
I’m terrified to open the garage again. I don’t want to find out what four hours and a warm Vegas day did to their corpses.  
  
Trying to not seem suspicious, I open the garage door the tiniest amount, but then let it swing open in surprise. There’s nothing there. Well, there’s something there – an old bed frame and a mirror – but the bodies are gone.  
  
Hanging from the rafters on a piece of string is a folded up piece of paper and a set of car keys. I unfold the paper.  
  
 _There’s a car a block from here. Don’t look in the trunk, just drive to these co-ordinates.  
-G  
  
_There’s a set of co-ordinates printed underneath.   
  
After closing the garage, I make the walk to the car. I have a sneaking suspicion about what’s in the trunk so I don’t open it like the note requested.   
  
___  
  
The co-ordinates lead to a deserted road in the middle of the desert. The road is empty and I can’t see another living person, which is probably good considering what I’m about to do.  
  
A shovel is sticking out of the stand, a sun bleached sticky note stapled to it.  
  
 _X marks the spot  
-G  
  
_I pull the shovel out and stuff the note into my pocket.  
  
And then I start digging.


	3. One Giant Leap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> -Noah buries a body  
> -Adam dies (TW: attempted rape)  
> -Henry has a nice conversation with his mom  
> -GanseyOnFire has a little smoochy with Blue  
> -Ronan chases down a bad guy  
> -Blue and Gansey have a heart to heart about ACAB

**Noah Czerny (somewhere in the Nevada desert)-  
  
**I pat down the sand once and for all, burying the men and everything they brought with them. What do I do with the shovel now? It has my fingerprints on it. Shit, I should’ve thought this through.  
  
I put the shovel in the trunk. Before I can get _into_ the car, however, I hear wheels gently cruising up to me. I freeze.  
  
“Mr Czerny.” Says a flat, monotone voice.  
  
I look up almost involuntarily. A man is holding open the door of a featureless, black limousine.  
  
“Mr Whelk will see you now.” The man says in the same bored tone.  
  
I cast one glance toward the car, and then suppress a sigh. I don’t know what Whelk wants, but I’m not one to deny it. I did just bury two of his men, after all.  
  
  
**Adam Sargent (University of Virginia)-  
  
**God, I wish Blue were here. She refuses to attend after-win football parties because it celebrates the idea of sports over academic achievement. I agree with her, _but_ I’d probably be kicked off the cheerleading squad if I started refusing to attend.  
  
I take a sip of my drink, barely letting any alcohol pass through my lips.  
  
“Hi, Adam.” Simpers a voice next to me.  
  
I try not to grimace, but look down at my teammate. “Hello, Jackie.”  
  
She gives me a wide smile, showing off bright white teeth. She takes the drink from my hand and carefully sets it on a nearby table, then latches both her arms around one of mine.  
  
“Let’s go where people can’t see us...” she breathes into my ear.  
  
“I don’t re-” I don’t get chance to finish my sentence before she’s yanking my arm and tugging me away from everyone.  
  
She pulls me toward the bleachers. There’s no-one around. She kisses me forcefully, not waiting for me to respond. With one hand on my chest, she pushed me back onto the bleachers, using the other hand to snake up my chest.  
  
I pull away from her. “Jackie, I don’t want this.”  
  
“What’s your problem? You’re a guy, you’re supposed to want this!”

She tries to kiss me again, but I dodge away from her red stained mouth.  
  
Annoyed, she pushes me roughly and I fall. I only remember the pain of something through my skull, Jackie’s gasp of surprise and my eyes clouding over.  
  
  
**Henry Cheng (Seoul, Korea)-  
  
**Okay. That was _a lot_ to take in.  
  
In the future, Blue Sargent was dead. Scratch that, Blue Sargent was murdered. She was brutally murdered on top of a mural of an explosion.  
  
And then said explosion happened.  
  
I’m still holding the comic she illustrated. It says that I arrive in Henrietta. If her explosion painting came true, then maybe the Henrietta thing will come true as well.  
  
But, it won’t come true unless I make it.  
  
I pull out my phone and speed dial my mother.  
  
“Hello? Hi, mother, it’s Henry.”  
  
“Oh, hello dear.” She says, sounding distracted.  
  
“I’m going back to America for a little while. I just thought I’d mention.”  
  
“That’s nice dear.” She says. “We’ll see you when you come back.”  
  
“Goodbye.”  
  
She doesn’t respond, but I hear the vague click of her hanging up. I sigh, not exactly sure what I was expecting, and put my phone back in my pocket.  
  
Then I sit down at my laptop, and start ordering plane tickets to as close to Virginia as I can get.  
  
  
**Gansey (Henrietta Virginia)-  
  
**Helen’s gone back to Washington. On one hand, I’m relieved, because I don’t have to look at her and remember her face when I hovered off the ground. On the other hand, I’m angry in a way I haven’t been angry before, at her denial.  
  
Ronan, my roommate isn’t home yet. To be fair to him, though, he was investigating something in Covington and he’ probably just staying in a motel somewhere.  
  
I also wouldn’t want to be around me right now.  
  
I sit down and switch on the TV, ready to watch another history documentary. I have one recorded on welsh kings. Unfortunately, something catches my eye.  
  
My mother is on the television, giving a speech. This isn’t an unusual sight, nor is it the one which alerted by attention, as she’s an influential politician.  
  
No, what caught my attention, was the fact that _I_ was the subject of her speech.  
  
“As most of you know, my son, Richard Gansey III, was hospitalised earlier this month. My daughter Helen regrets to inform me that the reason for this is that my son attempted suicide, by jumping off of a building.  
  
He is physically sound, and is getting mental and emotional help as we speak. This is a personal family matter and I will no longer be taking questions on this topic.”  
  
Anger, so unlike myself, rears its ugly head. Without thinking, I’m on my feet and already locking my door behind me as I tear out of Monmouth.  
  
I’m not paying attention to where I’m walking, to completely captured in my rage and disbelief of what Helen told our mother.  
  
“Oh, sorry.” Says Blue’s voice. Too late, I realise I stumbled into her.  
  
“Sorry Blue. I didn’t see you there.” I say, my eyes fixed on her face. I’ve always thought she was pretty, but in this moment her beauty is really striking. Her cheeks are rosy and her lips are slightly parted in surprise.  
  
“That’s fine. Hey, are you okay? You’re looking kinda pent-up there.” She asks, eyebrows furrowing and forming a cute little wrinkle on her forehead.  
  
I start to feel rain patter at my arms. Her hair darkens as abrupt amounts of water soak into it. It’s summer rain, the kind that’s fleetingly there but falls so harshly you have to get inside, lest you be soaked to the bone.  
  
“We should go inside.” I say, not answering her question.  
  
“We’re near my studio. If we run, we can make it before we get too wet.”  
  
I nod and follow her, running down the street and warm rain stabs our backs. I shelter my face with my hands as she fumbles with her keys. Eventually, the door swings open and we hurry inside.  
  
I’ve only really known Blue through her farther. I knew she drew, but this was something else. There isn’t spare space anywhere. Paint or paper covers every surface, along with empty canvases and pots of dirtied water. The air is thick with the smell of weed and paint. The walls, the floor and even the ceiling have been painted with scenes I recognise – extracts from her comic _9th Wonders_ and even one of my on the ledge of that building.  
  
“Sorry about the mess.” She says, shrugging off her damp coat.  
  
“It’s fine. You weren’t expecting guests.”  
  
She comes to stand next to me, in front of the window. For a minute, we both look out at the sheeting rain.  
  
“Can I kiss you?” I ask before I can stop myself.  
  
She looks a bit taken aback, but answer anyway. “Yes.”  
  
So I do. One of her hands settles against my chest, but not like she’s pushing me away. I cup the back of her neck, careful not to harm her nest of hair pins, and let my anger at Helen, at myself, at Ronan for not coming home, slowly ebb away.  
  
  
**Ronan Lynch (Covington Police Station)-  
  
**“How do you know the name Sylar?” Agent Dean Allen demands, from where he’s sitting across from me.  
  
I bring my cuffed hands up to my mouth to chew on the leather bands. “I told you, man, I heard it.”  
  
Dean sighs. “Mr Lynch, no one was speaking out loud at that crime scene.”  
  
I sit forward. “Listen. This is going to - fuck, this sounds crazy. I’m pretty sure I read your mind.”  
  
Shit, that does sound crazy. I sound like a guilty man trying to prove his innocence in all the wrong ways.  
  
Dean leans back in his chair, smiling idly. “Oh? Then, what exactly am I thinking now, Mr Lynch?”  
  
It’s a test. I hate tests, that’s why I dropped out of college. I concentrate on the voices, trying to pick out the exact timbre and pitch of the agents voice.  
  
_I hope Opal wasn’t to traumatised by this. We’ll need to get her therapy.  
  
_“Whose Opal?”  
  
The smile drops from Dean’s face and he stops lounging in his chair. “How did you know that?”  
  
I tap one finger to my temple. I try not to smile. That’d probably make it worse.  
  
“So,” I say. “Who is this Sylar guy?”  
  
Dean pauses for a second before answering, probably wondering whether or not it’s a good idea to tell some guy who can read minds classified information. It’s not a good idea, just for the record.  
  
Before he can say anything, a loud scream cuts his voice off. He startles to his feet, pausing only long enough to unlock my handcuffs before tearing out of the room.  
  
I run after him, following him down a long corridor. It looks like a police station but no-one’s here. Yet another reason why the police suck.  
  
Dean skids to a stop in front of a room, reaching for his gun.  
  
“Hey!” he yells. “Get away from her!”  
  
A hooded figure looms over a small blonde child, whose cowering in fear. Dean shoots once and the man takes off running.  
  
“Fuck.” I say before launching myself after him. The hooded man vaults over a filing cabinet, chased by me and Dean.  
  
A few shots are fired at his back. I could’ve sworn one punctured his shoulder, but he didn’t even falter and kept running.  
  
We chased him down, another bullet biting into his side. He stumbles once. He flings out his hand and a pipe busts, the water spraying the front of my shirt. I swear vehemently but continue to run after him.  
  
But he’s gone. In the two seconds my eyes were closed, he vanished into thin air.  
  
I swear again as Dean halts by my side, panting heavily.  
  
“Mr Lynch?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“How’d you like to partner with the FBI?”  
  
___  
  
I head to the bar. Gansey’s gonna kill me because of how late it is, but I just can’t bring myself to go back to Monmouth. It’s a long drive and he’s been so _broody_ lately because he’s having dreams every time he sleeps.  
  
“Whiskey, straight.” I tell the bartender.  
  
There aren’t many people around, but my head is still full of thoughts that aren’t my own. The bartender is admiring the hooks of my tattoo so I sneer at her as she sets down my drink.  
  
I look at every person in the room, matching thought to person.  
  
A woman with faded pink hair thinks about how she needs to get her girlfriend a new birthday gift. _Will she even like the watch? What if she thinks I’m trying to tell her something? I should’ve just got her flowers.  
  
_Well, that sounds like a healthy relationship.  
  
I play this little game with a few other minds.  
  
_Did I feed the cat? I forgot to feed the fucking cat-_ thinks a burly man now hurriedly paying his tab.  
  
I laugh once to myself – startling the barmaid as she put down my drink. I down it in one, not regretting the burn it leaves on the way down.  
  
The last person I turn to has light brown skin and _a lot_ of black hair. She looks straight into my eyes with her own deep, dark eyes. There’s no inner voice from her.  
  
She takes the last sip of her drink and blinks once, my eyes still locked on hers.  
  
I black out.  
  
  
**Blue Sargent (Her art studio; Henrietta, Virginia)-  
  
**There’s still that buzz of after-kiss excitement in the air. I’ve never kissed anyone, I don’t know if Gansey knew that, but he clearly had kissed before. Or maybe he was just naturally good at it. It wouldn’t surprise me, he’s good at everything. Good-looking, good at caring for my dying father, good at kissing...  
  
Gansey picks up some loose-leaf sketches and starts sifting through them carefully, as though it was fine art not just shitty stuff I drew at 2am while coming down off a high and listening to Orla talking on the phone the next room over.  
  
“These are really good, Blue.” He says. “Where do you get your inspiration?”  
  
“What are you a cop?” I answer, because I’m not entirely sure and I don’t really want to tell this hot, posh nurse guy that I think weed makes me paint the future.  
  
He laughs once, like he isn’t sure whether to do so or not. “I don’t entirely understand your distrust of police officers; could you perhaps explain it to me?”  
  
I’m ready to yell, but his request startles me. “Well, of course you wouldn’t understand. You’re rich and white and straight and like, _really_ privileged. For someone like me, whose not white, a woman and poor, I’d be put into a different category and held at a different standard then you would, just because how I look.”  
  
It’s not my most eloquent speech, because he’s staring me right in the eyes and nodding along. He looks genuinely interested in what I have to say.  
  
“That’s not right.” He says simply.  
  
“That’s why I’m mad.” I tell him.  
  
He nods, eyes flicking down to a drawing. “In that case, I’ll do anything I can to not support the police.”  
  
I turn away from him, rummaging through paper, just for something to do with my hands. I pause on a torn out sketchbook page. It’s dated from a few weeks ago – I started dating my art as soon as I realised the things I was drawing were coming true. It pictures me and Gansey, soaked to the bone in front of a window shielding us from rain.  
  



End file.
